


Can't Focus on Anything Else

by SoulFishie



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Biting, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelings, Foreplay, Grinding, M/M, Rough Kissing, Status Effects, Top Akechi Goro, a lot of it, akira is confused but into it, maybe dom akechi would be a better tag for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26548945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulFishie/pseuds/SoulFishie
Summary: While traversing through [redacted]'s Palace, Akechi is hit by a status effect. Akira has trouble identifying which status effect causes the subject to pin another to the ground and ravish them.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 318





	Can't Focus on Anything Else

**Author's Note:**

> this is just... 3000 words of foreplay with a happy ending

One moment Akira is preparing an attack to then baton pass over to Akechi, and then in the next moment he’s splayed out on the ground, Akechi occupying the space he once was. He quickly turns the push into a roll, swinging his head to look where Akechi must’ve taken a hit for him (and why would he do that, the hit wasn’t a killer hit and they both need to be in top form to reach Maruki—), and sees the man standing stock still in place.

With a visible red aura clinging to his skin.

Akira doesn’t get an opportunity to reach for any items or personas with status healing abilities, because in a single moment the enemy is destroyed by a precise bullet, and a heavily breathing Akechi is crowding into his space, pinning him to the ground. He’d tossed aside his helmet easily, exposing his wild unkempt hair to the world. In a similar matter, Akechi reaches up to grasp Akira’s mask, throwing it aside to join his helmet.

Akira attempts to rise into a sitting position, but Akechi doesn’t let him, laying the palm of his hand against his chest and pushing him into the ground. Akira lets out a breath, completely willing himself to _calm down, Akechi is affected by something, this doesn’t mean anything._

Akechi doesn’t let him calm down, however, as he follows the movement of his palm and leans closer to Akira. His body presses against his own, molding into every crevice until there is barely space for breathing between them. Akira can feel the panting of his own breath bounce off Akechi’s neck and settle back into his own skin, heating him up. Akechi must feel the breath too, because he leans his head down so they are equal with each other.

The look in Akechi’s eyes promises unrestrained ferocity.

“ _Joker_.” Crawls out of his throat, giving Akira a jolt to his spine. The voice is something straight out of his wildest dreams, dreams where he gives in to his desires and convinces Akechi to screw all good sense and have him.

“A-akech—Crow,” He answers back, hoping he’ll either snap out of the ailment, or explain what it does. Usually, ailments don’t persist out of battle, so the lingering aura surrounding Akechi confuses and worries him.

And why won’t he let Akira up so he can cast an Amrita Shower or give him an item to help?

His questions only compound when he feels Akechi lower his head into the crook of his neck, nosing at the pulse point there. He rumbles in his throat, causing a vibration to course through Akira. His eyes flutter at the feeling, more shocks jolting through his body.

“A-ah, wait, what—?” Akira goes to place his hands on Akechi’s shoulders to give them space (even though he doesn’t want to, it feels heavenly, but what was happening—), but Akechi quickly squashes that idea by slamming his hand onto Akira’s wrists, pinning them to the ground above them.

He can’t help the moan that escapes his throat at such an aggressive move.

The moan cuts off into a gasp when he feels Akechi’s teeth scrape against his neck, lightly nipping at the skin.

His back arches and Akechi follows the movement, digging the claws of his unoccupied hand into his waist. The subtle threat of the claws combined with the unpredictably of Akechi’s movements causes his body to heat up. The claws make their way up from his waist, dragging the lapels of his coat with them, exposing the backside of his pants to the ground.

Akira tries to wiggle his hands out of Akechi’s firm grip, desperate to participate in the touching, desperate to feel, to see, to touch, but Akechi only growls, picking his wrists up and throwing them back down heavily. He winces at the feeling, but he also has to intake a large breath to calm down the sharp feeling of _arousal_ that seeps into his blood.

Akechi treating him roughly wasn’t exactly something that was new to him, but to have it applied in this way was _exhilarating_.

Being left without the use of his hands limits his ability to participate in the activities, but the angle of Akechi’s head gives him an idea. With the man mouthing at his neck, Akira has his mouth directly next to his ear. He uses his position to lick the tip of it, sending a shiver throughout Akechi’s body, and then he pulls the tip of the ear into his mouth and lightly bites down.

Akechi immediately pulls his face away from Akira, staring down at him with a wide-eyed stare. Akira smirks at the look, and darts his tongue out to lick his lips. He delights at the way Akechi follows the movement.

With the momentary distraction, Akechi accidently lets him loosen one hand back and Akira wastes no time bringing the hand to Akechi’s hair and burying it into the locks. He grasps the hair lightly to hold his face still and quickly brings his face closer, sealing the distance with a kiss.

A kiss that Akechi quickly takes advantage of, pushing back into Akira and forcing him to lay his head back onto the ground with the force of it. Akechi pries open his lips with his own, forcing a duel between them that Akira doesn’t feel all that compelled to win. Sure enough, Akechi claims victory with a swipe of his tongue on the roof of his mouth and pulls back slightly to bite at his bottom lip. A moan escapes Akira, and Akechi goes back to declare another victory, licking and sucking at Akira’s mouth. Drool drips from Akira’s mouth as he forgoes any semblance of dignity with the rush to extract everything from the other man’s mouth.

Akechi pulls back for a moment to allow Akira to catch his breath, and a string of saliva connects them, swaying with the heavy breathing from both of them.

This moment of respite must be too much for Akechi to handle, because he quickly connects the two again, allowing his unoccupied hand to leave Akira’s neck and start to travel downward while his lips cut off Akira’s breathing.

Akechi must also realize Akira hasn’t bothered trying to move his captured hand in a while, because the grip loosens to something gentler as the claws clench and unclench around his wrist. His other hand slips over his coat, pulling it over his shoulder and down his arms as far as it will let him at the angle he’s forced them into. The sleeveless vest underneath barely covers anything, and Akira shivers at the feeling of cold air brushing against his exposed shoulders.

Akechi’s mouth digs deeper and deeper into his own, almost like he was trying to force them closer and closer. The prolonged kiss keeps Akira from taking any big breaths, and he feels his head growing lighter and lighter as Akechi continues his onslaught. Tears escape his eyes, partially from the lack of breath, and partially because the lack of breath _feels so good._

However, Akira decides to take drastic measures to distract Akechi into letting him breathe. He wants to be able to participate in the remainder of activities without worrying about passing out. He lifts his legs to wrap around Akechi’s waist and uses the momentum to pull him down while he thrusts up, connecting their lower bodies in a harsh connection.

Akechi disconnects with a gasp, letting out a groan afterward. Akira can feel both of them are at attention, and the pleasure from the grind, even through multiple layers of clothes, is mind-numbingly delicious.

“Jokerrr, do you even know what you’re doing to me?” The gravely voice questions, distorted by whatever ailment he’s under. Akira takes it as a simple victory Akechi knows it’s him he has trapped and desperate under him. At the very least he’s not a stand-in for some faceless nobody.

“Y-you s-started this,” He responds, his one free hand moving from the back of Akechi’s head to his neck, making sure to tug at his ear in the journey. He rocks his hips slightly to continue the friction, and to maybe encourage Akechi to participate as well.

A wet chuckle escapes Akechi, “So I did.” Before the free hand that was lightly tugging his coat shifts, and drifts to his waist.

Just as Akira is about to go for another desperate grind, Akechi uses his considerable strength to force Akira’s hips to the ground, pining him in place and stopping his movements.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes Akira’s throat, and his hand tightens on Akechi’s neck. He’s been only appreciative of Akechi’s strength in manhandling him previously, but this feels like a betrayal. Akechi’s groan earlier proved he has enjoying it just as much as he was, so why would he stop him now when they were getting to the best part?

“It’s just like you, Akira, to rush to the finish line, but there are a few things I want to do to you first.” The sound of his name leaving the other man’s lips ceases his struggling for a moment, and Akechi uses the opportunity to move his hand from holding his hips down to his sleeveless vest. The deft hand easily grasps the zipper on the top and pulls it down, revealing his collarbones and the top of his chest.

“A-akechi,” He moans once more, and he wonders if he could even talk normally if he wanted to. Thankfully he doesn’t want to, because the thought of having to be in any way articulate during this is difficult, if not impossible.

The mouth that had been cutting off his breathing moves to mouth at his collarbone, leaving a trail of bruises and saliva in their wake. Akira can’t help but wish the mouth was back on his, if only to stop the needy whines escaping his throat constantly.

He goes to move his hand from Akechi’s neck, intent on halting the stream of embarrassing noises from his throat, but Akechi must sense his intentions because he abruptly stops when his hand is halfway to his mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” He says, grabbing the hand and maneuvering it away from Akira’s face, “If you must put your hand anywhere, why _not_ here?” And, before Akira can parse a much more embarrassing location from the hint in the detectives words, he places Akira’s hand back on his neck, encouraging him to use his nails if the way he bends his fingers is proof enough.

Judging by the smug smirk on Akechi’s face, he knows exactly where Akira was thinking ( _hoping_ ) he would put his hand.

Akira retaliates by surging forward and licking a stripe up Akechi’s chin, stopping at his mouth, gathering the sweat there and swallowing it obscenely, tilting his neck to show the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“You’re playing with fire.” A growl sounds, and Akira doesn’t think he’s imagining the way those red eyes seem to glow brightly with renewed frustration.

He goes to pull the zipper down even more, exposing the rest of his chest and his nipples to the outside air. The change in temperature immediately causes them to stiffen and Akechi must take that as an invitation, because his mouth latches on to one immediately.

The sound and feeling of Akechi sucking and biting at his nipples throws Akira into another frenzy. His hips start to spasm out of control once more and Akechi resumes his previous position of pinning them to the ground. Desperate to feel some control over the situation, Akira’s nails dig into the man’s neck, applying what strength he has to keep Akechi’s face where it was.

Akechi continues his onslaught, switching nipples every time Akira thinks he might finally be calm enough to get his wits back. The saliva that follows the switch only turns Akira on more and more.

Closer and closer, Akira thinks he might be approaching that glorious release. He knows he must be desperate and repressed if a little rough kissing and nipple play gets him off so easily, but he couldn’t care less.

Then, right when he feels himself reach the precipice, Akechi stops all stimulation. Akira lets out the neediest whine yet, closing his eyes in frustration.

The pause allows both of them to catch their breath slightly, although the pain from the lack of friction in his lower half causes Akira to pant more unevenly. He opens his eyes and stares at Akechi, wondering why the other man can be so composed and sure of himself while Akira is dying for some stimulation.

A smirk crosses the mans face and his attention moves to Akira’s semi-trapped hand, “I can’t believe I’ve held myself back for so long. You are a vision, Akira.” The praise causes a warmth to spread throughout his entire body, and he feels himself jump. An embarrassing thought crosses his mind when he feels his lower body react to the words as well, could Akechi get him off on just words of praise alone?

Akechi continues, thankfully unaware of the effect his words have on Akira, “Something as simple as these gloves enchant me. The red against your delicate hands, like they’re coated in blood.” His clawed fingers dip under the rim of the glove, pushing them up over his palm and scratching lightly at the skin there. The act is almost intensely intimate, and Akira feels himself gasp at the sight.

Akechi doesn’t completely take the gloves off, and just lets his clawed fingers rest on his wrist and palm.

“ _Please_ , Akechi,” Akira hears himself beg, his panting accentuating the words, “Please.” He’s not even sure what he’s begging for. Maybe just more touching, maybe a release, anything to keep Akechi’s attention focused on him.

A sigh mixed with a groan escapes Akechi, “You are so pretty when you beg. How can I keep you like this? Can I have you, Akira?”

“You already have me,” Akira corrects, staring into Akechi’s glowing red eyes. The aura surrounding Akechi seems to become thicker as his eyes narrow and fill with heat.

“Is that so?” The words sound disbelieving, and Akira can’t deal with the idea that Akechi doesn’t know how much he means to him. He can’t think of the right words to say now, too overcome with arousal to fit words with heavy meaning into a coherent sentence. If he were able to gather himself better, he would tell Akechi exactly how much the man meant to him, how much he longs for him.

Instead, all Akira can do is lift his head slightly and press a gentle kiss to the other man’s cheek, lingering a moment to try and parse all the gentle meaning he could.

He’s unsure if Akechi can understand even a tenth of the feeling he has for him, but at least some of the message must get through, because when he pulls back Akechi’s teeth are grinding together. His eyes are clenched closed and his gloves spasm once more around his wrist.

“How can you—?” Grinds out of Akechi’s throat. Akira takes the unspoken meaning behind Akechi’s words and tries once more to re-center their focus.

“I told you,” He wraps his leg around Akechi’s waist again, taking advantage of Akechi’s momentary lapse in forceful domineering, “You already have me.” He thrusts up while pulling Akechi’s waist once more, grinding them together.

The action jolts Akechi out of his self-depreciating mood and he turns his attention back to forcing Akira into obedience.

“I suppose I should listen to you more attentively when you’re talking,” He says, keeping his gloved hand under Akira’s glove while scratching at the palm, “And I suppose I should let you cross the finish line.” And before Akira can force another thrust in anticipation, Akechi grinds his hips downward.

The lack of space between them causes another gasp and moan to escape his throat, which is quickly swallowed up by Akechi’s mouth. The movements are even more desperate and aggressive than earlier, taking and taking whatever Akira has to give.

Akechi’s removes his hand from Akira’s waist to grasp the hand at his neck and forces it to join the other, trapping the both of them again, but this time without the chance of breaking free. Not that Akira would try anyway, his attention completely taken by the mouth trying to steal the life from his body.

With his one free hand, Akechi grasps his waist and pulls, arching Akira into a position where he has no leverage and has to take whatever Akechi gives him.

The feeling of powerlessness envelops Akira. His hands are trapped, his body is arched, and his mouth is stolen. He’s never felt more turned on.

He feels his body build up tension once more, and the knowledge that Akechi might let him reach the climax quickens the approach. He’s desperate to feel them both reach the end, and he gives as good as he gets in the kiss. His tongue intercepts Akechi’s more than once, licking into his mouth and taking what was given.

Akechi disconnects with a gasp and runs kisses all along Akira’s face, down down down until he reaches his ear.

“ _Akira,_ ” He hears breathe directly into his ear, “You won’t let me come alone, will you?” Followed by a harsh grind into his lower body, a bite to his ear, and a tight squeeze to his wrists, “ _Let me see how beautiful you are when you fall apart in my arms_.”

The overbearing feeling of Akechi rushes through Akira’s body. His insides clench in pleasure and release all at once. The whisper Akechi gave him echoes throughout his mind as he feels himself come apart, held together only by the responding tightening of Akechi’s arm around him.

Heavy breathing follows their mutual release. Akira knows he should be prepared in case there was something more to this ailment, but the bliss that comes with his crescendo keeps him loose and blissed out, unwilling to worry about anything. Besides, Akechi’s weight stays on top of him, heavy and reassuring. His breath also comes in heavy gulps, his hands clenching and unclenching around Akira’s wrists, as if making sure he has no thoughts of leaving.

If he had more control over his words, he would reassure the man that he had no thoughts of moving any time soon, let alone to shake Akechi off of him.

“Oh, Joker,” He hears above him, dark amusement coursing through the words, “Don’t you just look _ravished_.”

He cracks an eye open, his breaths still labored and his bones loose like jelly. He sees Akechi leaning above him, aura long gone, and smirk undeterred by the sight of him completely defenseless. In fact, if Akira didn’t know any better, he’d say Akechi wasn’t surprised at all to see him in the state he’s in. He wonders, not for the first time, how in control of himself Akechi was during all of that.

Judging by his content smirk and unwillingness to let Akira back into a less vulnerable position, he was very aware of what was happening. The smirk stays on Akechi’s face as he lifts a clawed hand and roughly pushes Akira’s hair back away from his face, looking into his eyes.

“I’ll have to get hit with _Hunger_ more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing was inspired by a fanart of akechi's glove/claws underneath joker's glove... it was so lewd idk what to tell you


End file.
